


Where Night Is Blind

by Lilsciencequeen



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Phantom of the Opera Fusion, F/M, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Mystery, Obsession, Romance, Team Space AOS, some minor character deaths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-27 23:04:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20956388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilsciencequeen/pseuds/Lilsciencequeen
Summary: Ballet dancer turned singer Jemma Simmons soon finds herself the obsession of a mysterious figure who lives under the Paris Opera House. When someone from her past returns, Jemma soon finds herself thrust into a world of love and lust, revenge and betrayal, life and death.a Phantom of the Opera AU





	1. Think of Me (Think of Me Fondly)

**Author's Note:**

> Did I need to start another multi-chapter AU? No.  
Did I because I love Phantom of the Opera more than anything else at this point in time? Yes. Yes I did.
> 
> If anyone wants the accompanying music, I used the 25th Live at the Royal Albert Hall which can be found on Spotify or a playlist on YouTube [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Sc-BG5lGsY&list=PLoRMcp797qeuU34kf87GKTk_OMLdgYvXZ). The songs used are Think of Me to Little Lotte/The Mirror but I highly recommend you start from the beginnging!
> 
> Thank you to stjarna for being a wonderful beta as usual!

Jemma was watching from a distance, from the edge of the stage. Rehearsals were going as well as they could with Aida as the lead once again. Not that it had surprised her, not that it had surprised anyone. She was always the lead, there was no other place on the stage for her. And the prima donna was as much a prima donna on the stage on as she was off stage.

The woman was demanding, wanting all the attention on her. If things weren’t going her way, well that wasn’t good enough. They  _ had  _ to go her way. Trying wasn’t good enough. If things weren’t perfect, well then, things didn’t matter.

“I wonder why Koenig is leaving,” Daisy whispered over Jemma’s shoulder. The two of them had been watching Aida and the rest of the company being introduced to the new managers, a huge crowd having formed in the middle of the stage, but the two ballet dancers had stayed to the edges, more interested in watching from the wings than being in the midst of everything. And watching from here, they could see that something was about to happen, and to see what it was, well, that didn’t take long.

“Oh god,” Daisy whispered as everyone backed away and the orchestra started up once again, and before anyone really knew it, Aida was singing, her voice filling the theatre. Everyone’s eyes were on her, no one able to tear their gaze away from her because when Aida sang, she held everyone’s attention, no one wanting to look away. To them, they were in the presence of one of the greatest singers, and she deserved all their attention.

Jemma wasn’t going to deny that Aida was a good singer. She was one of the best, why else would she get the lead time and time again. She worked hard for it, and despite her attitude and how demanding that she was, she did deserve the roles that she got. She worked for them, and it showed.

Back on stage, things were going well until…

A crash jarred them all, causing them to jump. There were a few screams too as the dust cleared and Jemma started to realise what was going on, blinking several times as she took in the scene in front of her. Once she had, she took cautious steps onto the stage, emerging from the wings. Though she didn’t know how she wanted to help.

One of the scenery backdrops had fallen, clipping Aida on the shoulder as it fell, narrowly avoiding causing her serious injury. Well, Jemma could only believe that she hadn’t been seriously injured, as she was already once again on her feet, shouting at some poor stagehand, demanding answers and wanting to know what had happened.

“It’s him,” someone was shouting, one of the younger ballerina dancers. “It’s him. The Phantom of the Opera!”

She was hysterical, and it was spreading, more of the ballerinas were starting to believe the words, that the backdrop had fallen because of the mysterious spectre that was rumoured to haunt the Opera house. The new managers, Hunter and Deke, Jemma couldn’t tell the difference between the two of them, at least not yet, were trying to reassure her that it was an accident and that these things do in fact happen.

“These things do happen?” Aida all but screeched.  “ You have been here five minutes, what do you know?These things do happen all the time! For the past three years, these things do happen! ” Turning to May and Koenig, who was slowly backing toward the door, she pointed an accusatory finger. “And did you stop them happening! And you, you’re as bad as him! ‘These things do happen?’, well until you stop these things happening, this  _ thing _ does not  _ happen _ !”

Spinning on the spot, she forced her way through a group of unfortunate ballerinas who were unable to scatter in time and stormed off-stage, not even glancing back once.

Radcliffe shook his head, following Aida off-stage whilst muttering about how the new managers were amateurs, and then he was gone too.

A silence filled the auditorium as everyone took in the fact that they had just lost the lead of the opera that was to open in a fortnight. Then seconds later, chaos erupted as the new managers tried to work out if there was anyone who could fill this role since there was no understudy, a position unfulfilled as it had never been needed before.

When Melinda May, the ballet dancer teacher, cleared her throat, silence fell instantly, no one wanting to say or do anything. Everyone knew how strict May was, how stern, and speaking out of turn, the fear that everyone felt was real so they simply remained silent. “Before I leave you to deal with… these things, I have a note to give you, from the Opera Ghost. His demands are listed there.”

“The ghost?” Hunter asked, shaking his head as he read the note, before Deke snatched it from him. “We can’t leave Box Five empty! They’re the best seats in the house!”

“20,000? A month?” Deke couldn’t believe it. “There’s no way that we could make that a month now, even if there was an ‘Opera Ghost!’. We’ve lost our lead!”

“Jemma could do it…” Daisy suggested, her voice tentative, filling the silence that had settled, as if she weren’t sure of what it was that she was suggesting. “She’s gotten a new singing teacher. I’ve heard them. If anyone could do it, she can.”

All eyes turned on Jemma, expectant. She swallowed. Hard. She had never sung before, not for anyone. Only for her teacher, and he was very protective of her voice, saying that she wasn’t ready to perform, at least not yet. But she did it. If not for her, if not for Daisy, for the Opera House. It had been her home for many years now, May taking her in once her father had passed away. It had been home, it was still home and if the show couldn’t go ahead… well, she wouldn’t have a job.

So she did it, singing the part that had once been Aida’s. At first, she was quiet, the stage fright too much for her but the more that she sang, the more confidence she gained, the stronger her voice became, and before she knew it, the song was over and everyone was staring at her, mouths agape in wonder.

“It’s her,” Deke whispered, his eyes wide in wonder, his mind calculating how much money he could make from this. “She can do this.”

***

The next fortnight passed by quickly, with Jemma having to learn Aida’s role in days whereas the other women had had months. But Jemma was never one to shy away from the challenge, and with the extra lessons that her singing teacher was giving her meant that she was more than ready for the role.

And before anyone really knew it, opening night was upon them. News had spread quickly that Aida had left the Opera House and a ballet dancer of a deceased violinist was taking over the main role, and that only helped to sell tickets. Everyone was intrigued, wanting to see how it all went down. And it went down well, Jemma receiving a ten-minute standing ovation at the end of her performance.

But despite that, she hurried backstage the moment that she could, wanting nothing more than to get to the safety of her dressing room, away from everything and everyone. She just needed a moment to breathe, to take in everything that was happening. 

Daisy had caught up with her, deciding to walk with her to her dressing room. The two of them had been friends for years, May having adopted Daisy several years prior to Jemma, the two of them being orphaned at a young age. Though she wanted peace, Jemma was happy to have Daisy walk with her, until…

“So, who is he? This man of mystery?”

This had been going on for weeks now, Daisy trying to persuade her to tell her about this mysterious music teacher, and all Jemma could tell her was that it was the Angel of Music, and that her father had sent him to teach her to sing. Daisy, however, wasn’t convinced, though she never expressed her worry about her friend. Not that she could today, for May was waiting for them, and before Daisy could object, she was marched off for additional practices, the ballet teacher saying that their technique was not good enough yet.

Now alone, Jemma entered the dressing room and found that she had a visitor herself.

“Is it you?” he asked, rising from the armchair when she entered. “Is it really you Jemma?”

“Fitz?” she asked when he entered the room, presenting her a rose. “I haven’t… I haven’t seen you since father died!”

He nodded, lifting her hand, his lips gentle as he kissed her skin. “And I have missed you every day since. And look at you now. Leading the Opera House.”

“He did it. Father. He always promised me that he would send me the Angel of Music once he was gone, to teach me. And he did Fitz, for it is he who has been teaching me these nights. It is he who helped me gain the role.”

“You did well,” he told her, his smile wide. “We sold out, every seat in the house was full. Not one empty seat. And the ovation... I’ve never seen anything like it. Not even when Aida was here.”

“You help in running the House now? With Monsieur Shaw and Hunter?” she asked, and when he nodded, she felt both fear and excitement flood through her. Fitz knew the arts, the opera, better than Hunter and Deke, the latter two coming from the scrap metal and knowing little about what was required in the world of opera.

“I do. And we must go out and celebrate.”

“Fitz, we can’t. The Angel of Music is very strict about my lessons.” Her heart was starting to beat faster, and her head was starting to pound because her teacher, the Angel of Music, he was strict. He had demands that must be met, and if she were to be found to be out and about with her childhood sweetheart, he wouldn’t take well to that.

“He mustn’t worry. I shan’t keep you out late. And with the success that you brought tonight, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you missing one night. There’s a place with the finest of cheeses and wines. You must try it. I shall grab my hat and then we shall be off!”

“No,” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat. She couldn’t leave. Not with him. Not when she had another lesson. “Please Fitz!” But he was already making to leave, pressing a kiss to her temple before hurrying off.

As soon as he left, the door slammed shut, and Jemma felt a presence in the room, and a mysterious voice was calling her name. Spinning around once, and twice, she finally saw him. Her Angel of Music. He was standing there in the mirror, a masked figure and he was calling to her, just like he did in her dreams.

“Come,” he told her, beckoning her to step through the mirror. “You have much to learn.”

And by the time Fitz returned, only moments later, the dressing room was empty and Jemma was gone. 


	2. In Sleep He Sang To Me (In Dreams He Came)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to stjarna for the beta!  
The songs for this on the [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jUTQarYXSSo&list=PL8C6B25D4145274E0&index=6) are The Phantom of the Opera, The Music of the Night, I Remember.../Stranger Than You Dreamt It

There was just something about him, something that Jemma couldn’t put her finger on, but there was something about him. He was a man of mystery, leading her down through the Opera House, taking back corridors and staircases that she didn’t even know existed. His hand was tight around her wrist, and in the other he held a lantern, the dim light from the flame only pushing the shadows to the corners. The air was colder, and her thin robe did nothing to help shield her from the draft that sent shivers down her spine and caused the hairs on her arms to rise. And the deeper that they got, the more nervous that Jemma got. This man of mystery was taking her somewhere, but where she didn’t know. And every time that she tried to fight him, to get away from him, she found herself unsuccessful—his grip on her wrist was too strong. It was like an icy vice on her wrist and she couldn’t break free no matter how hard she tried. Eventually, she resigned herself to the fact that all she could do was let him lead her down, to where—she didn’t know. Not yet anyway. 

Eventually, he took her through a door, and within seconds, a smell hit her nose. A rotten vile smell. A damp smell. One that made her want to gag the second that it hit the back of her throat. The sewers—that’s where they were. He had taken her down to the sewers for some reason. But she was still trapped, unable to do anything. She was like a lamb to the slaughter, allowing him to take her wherever it was that he was taking her. 

After some time they reached a lake, where dark water was gently lapping at the edges of the steps. A small boat was resting there, and the figure, her Angel of Music, helped her into it, and the only thing that Jemma could think of was who was he? This masked figure. He had been teaching her for months now, lessons four nights a week, with them having increased to six nights a week ever since she had taken over from Aida’s role. The work was hard, but with what it had given her, and how good an instructor he was, it was worth the extra work and lessons she was doing.

Once she was comfortable in the boat, having to sit at the front so as not to tip them over, he took up a position behind her, and started to row, taking her further and further away from the place that she knew, the place that she called home. The smell of the sewers thankfully didn’t get worse, and after a while, she got used to the smell, the rot and decay no longer annoying her, the stench no longer annoying the back of her throat, making her gag.

Much of the ride took place in silence, for even though he was her Angel of Music, he struck fear into her heart sometimes, for he was fierce and relentless, not taking anything less than perfection from her. She knew that it was for the best and she wanted to please her father for he had allowed for this to occur, but that still didn’t mean that she couldn’t be scared of him.

“Where are we going?” she asked, after a while, and it wasn’t until they passed through a portcullis, the metal gate closing once more after they had passed through it, that he spoke. Tall candelabra rose out of the water, flames coming to life and dancing on the wicks as they passed by them, clearing only some of the fog that clung to the water. If she had thought that the corridors and passageways beneath the Opera House were bad, then this was worse.

“My home.” The two words were the only words that he spoke to her as he helped her off the boat, and she took in her surroundings, the place that this masked figure called home. There wasn’t much here, not at all: there was something covered, a mirror most likely from the height and the shape of it, a desk covered in candles with a chair pushed neatly under it, and that was it. It wasn’t much of a home, it wasn’t much of nothing.

“What are we doing here?” she asked, accepting his hand so that she could climb out of the boat, the thing only listing slightly as she made her way back onto land. The soles of her shoes clicked on the slick black stone as she made her way away from the edge, scared to be so close to such vile water.

“The next stage of your lessons,” was all that he told her. “You’re doing well but you have so much more to learn.”

***

The lesson went on for hours, and though he was in the place he called home, he kept his mask on, only taking his cape off and whenever she tried asking who he was, he got angry, making her work harder and harder, not letting her stop, wanting nothing less than perfection from her.

Eventually, he allowed her to rest, to take a goblet of wine, and as she did so, she saw her chance to find out more about him, but she decided to take a different approach. It was obvious that he was doing this for a reason, for why else would he have taken her here, to such a secret place when all of her other lessons had occurred in the comfort of her dressing room. “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?”

“I’m doing this for you,” he told her, taking her hands and looking at her, his smile manic, a gleam in his eyes that sent fear flooding through her veins. “I want you to know this, to learn. I want you to one day lead my Opera.”

“Your Opera?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. She knew that he was a master of music, that he was here to teach her to help her improve but she didn’t know this. That he was preparing her one day to lead, and lead something that he was creating.

He nodded. “I’m writing an Opera. It’s not ready, not yet but when it is… I want you to lead it. There’s no one else I’d rather have in the role.”

“You think I can do it?”

“You’re the  _ only _ one that can do it. Jemma, I’m doing this for you. You are the one that  _ inspires _ me. This role, it’s written for you and you alone because there’s no one else that can sing it. I can show you.” He led her across the lair, to what she thought was the mirror.

And he pulled back the drape, and once he had, she found that it was indeed a mirror, but it wasn’t her reflection that she saw. At least, not a true representation of herself as between the shattered remains of the mirror was a mannequin. One that looked like her but also didn’t.

She could tell that it was fake, the face too perfect, the makeup too bright, and the dress too extravagant. It seemed he had made it… made it look like her… for whatever reason, she didn’t know but it made her head spin and as it fell forward, its arms reaching through the shattered shards as if to grab her, she fell back, a darkness enveloping her.

***

Soft chimes pulled her from her sleep, and coming back to the world, she found that she was lying in the boat that she had been carried here in. His cape had been tucked gently around her, as he wanted to protect her and allow for her to rest.

But he hadn’t taken her back to her dressing room, her home, the one place she felt truly safe. No instead, she was still here, in his lair, the place that he called home. 

This hadn’t been some strange dream that she had had. It was all real. The lake, the boat, the masked man. He had taken her from her dressing room, and down into the sewers under the Paris Opera House. He had given her an extra lesson, and said that he had so much more planned for her future. 

The soft chimes still continued, and it wasn’t until she climbed back out of the boat that she discovered what was making it - it was a music box, decorated with a monkey on top, playing the symbols. Crouching down, she used one finger to stroke it’s fur, finding that it was rougher than she expected but it was still a fine piece of art that it took her longer than she expected to pull her eyes away from it.

Looking around his lair, she saw that the drape was once again covering the mirror, covering the mannequin of her (and the thought of it still sent shivers down her spine) and that her Angel of Music was working on something, maybe the Opera. The faint scratchings of the quill were barely audible to her, but she could hear them.

Making her way over to him, taking small steps so that she didn’t disturb him, she had an idea—she could remove his mask and reveal the face that was hidden beneath it, the one who had taught her so well and allowed for all of this to happen.

The distance between them had almost been closed and slowly, carefully, flinching when he moved, she reached over, her fingers stretching forward to close the distance between the two of them and...

She pulled the mask from his face, revealing what lay beneath and...

His face… what the mask hid was awful and she couldn’t help the gasp of fear, of shock, of horror that escaped her. His face…

It was burnt. Rotten. The flesh having decayed away and leaving muscle and tissue and bone exposed.

He spun the second that he felt the mask ripped from his face and she couldn’t help but flee, not that there was anywhere to go but she had to get away from him. Away from...

His lips snarled “Is this what you expected to see?” He was vicious, angry, betrayed. She had never seen him like this before, and if he scared her before, he terrified her now. Her heart started to beat faster in her chest as he strode towards her, closing the distance in half the number of steps that she did. 

All her words had left her, and she just shook her head, continuing to back away from him until she fell back, falling back on the ground, the sudden shock jarring her.

“You can’t ever return. Not now that you’ve seen this. This face. This mask of horror. The gargoyle that burns in hell.” He went out to hit her, his hand only moments away from making contact with her cheek but when she held out his mask, passing it to her, he withdrew accepting the mask back. 

He accepted it back without even a word of thanks and began muttering again, more to himself than to Jemma who heard the words nonetheless. “But one day…. One day you can learn to love this face. Yes, fear can turn to love and one day, one day you’ll love the beauty that lies beneath. One day you’ll see.”

Turning away for only for the briefest of seconds to put the mask back on, he grabbed her wrist once more, pulling her to her feet. “Come,” he growled, the word catching in the back of his throat. “You must return. They are looking for you, the fools that they are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your support on the first chapter, I'm so glad that you enjoyed it, I hope that you enjoyed this one, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on it.


	3. Mystery After Gala Night (Mystery of Soprano Flight)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support on this. The songs on the playlist are Notes...Prima Donna and Poor Fool, He Makes Me Laugh and they can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JrYOXmbTB1g&list=PLoRMcp797qeuU34kf87GKTk_OMLdgYvXZ&index=10)
> 
> Also just a warning for a minor character death in this chapter.
> 
> Thanks to stjarna for the beta!

“It’s good publicity!” Deke shouted back at Hunter, the two of them locked in an argument after May had informed them that Jemma had disappeared, vanished without a trace. “People will be intrigued, wanting to know how we do it despite the fact that our cast is missing!”

“But that’s the issue! The cast is missing! We’ve lost not one but  _ two _ of our leads, and how many more will we lose after that? How many more will walk away? Will we lose everyone?”

“And if we lose any more so what?” was all that Deke said. “Everyone is intrigued and look what arrived this morning. We have people writing to us after one show! One show, Lance!” He grabbed the letters of the desk and passed Hunter the one that was addressed to him. “Everyone is wanting to see how we do it, how the show happens despite the fact that we’re missing our cast! That alone is better than anything else. Gossip is worth its weight in gold!”

Hunter, however, didn’t seem to think this to be the case, but nonetheless, he ripped the envelope open and began reading, if only to prove Deke wrong.

_ “Dear Hunter; what a charming gala _

_ Jemma enjoyed a great success _

_ We were hardly bereft when Aida left _

_ Otherwise, the chorus was entrancing _

_ But the dancing was a lamentable mess” _

Hunter frowned, the letter not what he expected. And it was seconds later that Deke was reading his too, wanting to see if his was any better.

_ “Dear Shaw, just a brief reminder _

_ My salary has not been paid _

_ Send it care of the Ghost by return of post _

_ P.T.O. no one likes a debtor _

_ So it’s better if my orders are obeyed.” _

“Signed… O.G. O.G.? Who’s that? Who would send this?” Deke threw his letter back on the desk, indignant. This  _ wasn’t _ what he had been expecting at all. He had been expecting praise, people writing to say how wonderful it had all been. But not this. 

“O.G...” Hunter thought out loud, trying to piece together everything that he had heard and seen since he took the job at the Opera House. Then it came to him, and it must have come to Deke at the same time because…

“Opera Ghost. It has to be. Remember what May informed us of, on our first day. That we must pay him 20,000 francs a month by the 5 th . And that date has long passed.” 

Deke shook his head. “But he can’t demand that. We don’t even know if he is real. We can’t just give thousands to any person that demands it.”

“The ballerinas think that he is real enough, this Phantom of the Opera…” Though Hunter never got any further than this as the door flew up, slamming against the wall which such a bang that it caused both men to jump.

“Where is she?”

Fitz was storming into the room, looking worse for wear, as though he hadn’t slept that night. And with the fact that he was probably up all night in relation to Jemma, either looking for her or spending the night with her… it made sense that he looked awful.

“You mean Aida?” Deke asked. There were rumours that Aida was to return to the Opera House, not wanting to miss out on the success to be had, and with Fitz helping to fund it, well, it made sense that he would wish to speak with her.

“I mean Jemma. I want an answer. I want to know where she is. I was supposed to take her out last night, and when I returned from getting my hat, she was gone, simply gone. And she had yet to return. I want to know where she is, where she’s gone. She can’t have just vanished!”

“We know nothing!” Deke protested, fear really creeping into his voice. He had thought that Jemma had gone with Fitz the night before, the two of them sharing it as lovers before she would return. If not that, he thought that Jemma had fled, the pressure of taking the lead too much for her. “We thought that she was with you.”

“She wasn’t with me. If she was would I be with you?” Hunter shook his head and still, Fitz continued. “And this…so you didn’t write this?” Confusion was evident on his face, but it seemed that he believed them.

“And what is it we’re meant to have wrote?” A beat. “Written?”

Fitz extended his hand, holding out the note and when Hunter took it, he immediately began to read aloud, the note only adding to the confusion in the room.

_ “Do not fear for Miss Simmons _

_ The Angel of Music has her under his wing _

_ Make no attempt to see her again” _

The two managers stared at each other in horror. Jemma was gone, taken by this Opera Ghost and he was apparently holding her hostage or wanting to keep her away from Fitz, it wasn’t quite clear what it was that the Ghost wanted.

And Fitz picked up on this, looking between the two of them. “You don’t know where she is?”

Hunter shook his head. “We thought that she was with you.”

“I thought she was with  _ you _ .”

The three of them stared at each other, no one wanting to break eye contact first and no one really sure where to go next when the door slammed open once more, with Aida, having recovered from her ordeal, making her presence known in the room, and even in anger, she was still graceful, still a beauty.

“Where is he?” she demanded, storming across the room, and towards Fitz, but Hunter stepped in-between the two of them, before one of them did something that they regretted. “Why did you do this?”

“Do what?” Fitz asked, obviously confused as to what it was that Aida was talking about. He barely knew the woman after all, in fact, they hadn’t even met before. “What am I supposed to have done?”

Before Aida could retort she waved a letter in Hunter’s face. “This. He sent me this. A letter that I rather resent.”

“I didn’t send it, why would I!”

“Let’s just stay calm. We don’t know who sent this and what it's about. If we can all calm down, we can work out what went wrong, and who is sending us all these blasted notes.”

Fitz, meanwhile, had snatched the note from Aida’s outstretched hand, reading it aloud.

_ "Your days at the Opéra Populaire are numbered _

_ Jemma Simmons will be singing on your behalf tonight _

_ Be prepared for a great misfortune _

_ Should you attempt to take her place. _ ”

The room fell silent once he had read the note aloud, everyone pondering over what it meant. No one knew what to say, and it was only broken by Daisy running into the room, Fitz her first point of call.

“Daisy!” Fitz called, turning to the woman that Jemma called a sister. “Have you heard from Jemma, do you know where she is?”

“She returned this morning, but she won’t speak of where she was, what happened to her. What she saw. But she has returned.”

“Can I see her?”

“No.” The word came from May, and all attention turned to her. “She needs rest. She won’t see anyone. Not tonight. But I have a message. From the Opera Ghost.” Holding out a note. Hunter snatched it from her, unfolding it, and as everyone in the room gathered around him, he read aloud once more, already tired of all the notes that had made themselves known.

_ "Gentlemen, I have now sent you several notes of the most amiable nature, detailing how my theatre is to be run. You have not followed my instructions… _

_ I shall give you one last chance _

_ Jemma Simmons has returned to you _

_ And I am anxious her career should progress _

_ In the new production of Il Muto _

_ You will therefore cast Aida as the pageboy _

_ And put Miss Simmons in the role of Countess _

_ The role which Miss Simmons plays _

_ Calls for charm and appeal _

_ The role of the pageboy is silent which makes _

_ My casting, in a word, ideal _

_ I shall watch the performance from my normal seat in box 5, which will be kept empty for me. Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur _

_ I remain, gentlemen, your obedient servant _

_ O.G." _

Aida looked appalled. “The silent role? I lose out on the lead to… to her?” She was indignant, an anger burning off her that Fitz and the others could feel it. “You know that I could do it better than her. That I could bring in more than her. You think that the Ghost knows more than me, can cast better than me? Are you going to trust his judgement over mine? You lost your star after one night, one who doesn’t even know the role, and you chose to cast her over me? How much money have I brought this house over the years? Are you going to trust those notes over me?”

“No.” Deke shook his head. “No. No more notes. No more demands. No more Ghost.” He spun, turning to Aida. “You want the role tonight, you’re performing tonight.”

***

Fitz took his place with the managers in Box Five, knowing that this wasn’t the greatest of ideas but not wanting to anger them any more than he had earlier, he knew that he had to sit there. Especially due to the fact that he was the Patron of the Opera House and helped to fund so much of the shows.

“See,” Deke said, turning to the woman that was next to him, her name no longer in Fitz’s head. “No ghost, no nothing.”

“Except a good time,” Hunter told him, passing him a glass of champagne. “Here’s to another show.” They clinked glasses, and the room fell silent, darkening as Aida and Jemma and the rest of the company took to the stage.

Things went well, in fact, they were going well until, when there was a moment of silence on stage, a mysterious voice thundered, sending shivers down everyone’s spine. The voice was unplaceable but whoever, or whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“ _ Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept empty?” _ The room shook, and the last cries of the violins fell silent. Everyone was unsure of what to do next, and it wasn’t long before panic had started to ripple across the stage, some of the company making their way to the wings once more whilst Jemma was saying that it was him, that he was here.

“It’s him…” Her words were heard by everyone, the room silent enough to allow for that, for a dropped pin to be heard but not everyone was scared by the interruption, in fact, some seemed angry.

“Your part is silent, little toad,” Aida hissed, her grip on Jemma’s wrist tight and painful, not wanting her to move, and Fitz, now standing, leaning against the railing, was worried, unable to do anything.

“ _ A toad, madame? Perhaps it is you who are the toad… _ ”

Aida, a proud smile on her face, just shook off his words and continued singing, but every time she tried, a horrific croaking sound, met with a horrific laugh, one that had no humour to it. Only enjoying her suffering.

“ _ Behold, she is singing to bring down the chandelier!” _

Fitz watched it all unfold on stage, wondering what to do next, but there was movement beside him as the laughter continued to boom. Hunter was making his way down to the stage, likely trying to redeem everything and stop it from falling apart. Moments later, as Aida fled the stage, he appeared on stage, in an attempt to bring some order back to the night. “Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize. The performance will continue in ten minutes' time... when the role of the Countess will be played by Miss Simmons. Thank you. Meanwhile, we'd like to give you the ballet from Act Three of tonight's opera.”

The soft tones of the ballet began to fill the room, a gentle calm so different to the panic that had occupied it only moments ago, as Jemma was bundled off stage, so that she could get ready to take the lead, but he could tell that something was going to go wrong. He could just tell.

As the ballet continued, he felt the hair on his arms rise, and he decided that he had to act, that sitting up there helpless when something was going to happen… No, he just couldn’t do that. He was making his way across the front of the stage when it happened. Not that he saw what was happening at first. The screaming, the crying, the hysterics… that’s what he heard. And when he turned his attention to the stage, now empty apart from two or three dancers, he saw what had caused such pandemonium.

Ward’s body was hanging from the roof, dangling from where he had been only moments ago in the fly system. He was dead, there was no way that someone could have survived that, but how it happened… he had no idea but he knew one thing.

It wasn’t an accident.

Screams continued to fill the air, everyone descending into panic and Hunter ran back on stage, trying to keep things calm, to tell everyone that it was okay. “Ladies and gentlemen, please remain in your seats. Do not panic. It's simply an accident... an accident...” But it was still too late, people were fleeing, clambering over the seats and leaving possessions behind, and on his way to Jemma’s dressing room, no one even looking at him twice as he made his way backstage, Fitz found Jemma running in the opposite direction, and didn’t even think twice about following her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your support, I've loved reading your thoughts on this one!


	4. Say You’ll Share With Me (One Love, One Lifetime)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs for this are Why Have You Brought Me Here, All I Ask of You and All I Ask of You (Reprise) and can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AtgREEyXJ80&list=PLoRMcp797qeuU34kf87GKTk_OMLdgYvXZ&index=12)!

She had run to the roof, and whether she knew he followed her, that remained unclear, but she looked back once she made her way to the middle of the roof. The moon was large behind her, casting her in its glow. The stars hung in the sky above her and she looked ethereal, as if not from this world.

But the fear on her face, it was so evident. Whoever this ghost was, whatever he was doing, whatever he had done… No. No. This ghost. He couldn’t be real. For ghosts, phantoms, the paranormal… they weren’t real. The things that went bump in the night… they were just formed from nightmares… But whatever this was… it had scared her. Had caused her such upset. And all he wanted was to be able to take her away from it, the terror. But to do that, he had to know what it was that had spooked her so badly to lead her here, the roof of all places.

“Why?” he asked, closing the distance between them, reaching up and caressing her cheek. “Why have you brought me here? We must go back, we must return.” The show downstairs was about to fall apart, and with Ward having been killed… he dreaded what was happening downstairs and what it might mean for the future of the Opera House.

But Jemma obviously had other ideas. She shook her head; tears were no streaking down her face. “Please.” She was begging him, pleading with him. “We can’t go back. We can’t return.”

“But we must… The show.”

“It doesn’t matter. Not now. Not after what he did. This masked figure. This ghost. This Phantom of the Opera.” A pause as she tried to swallow air, her breaths long and panicked, the oxygen burning her lungs as she tried to take much needed deep breaths to compose herself. “It was him. I know it. He was there.” She stepped away from him, reluctantly, and stared at him, meeting his eyes. “He’s real, Fitz and I’m scared.”

Something about this… it had spooked her. But ghosts. Masked figures of darkness. Phantoms. None of this was real. It couldn’t be. It was all fake, illusions. And deep down, he knew that Jemma knew that too. She was logical, she was smart. She knew better than to believe in the strange things that go bump in the night. But the fear had consumed her, had taken over her to the point where she couldn’t tell the difference between her dreams and the reality that she lived in. “But he’s not… he’s not real. This masked man, this phantom…”

“It is him. He’s real. I know it Fitz and he won’t ever stop Fitz. He wants me for his own. To keep. And if he can’t. He’ll kill again and again and again. He won’t ever stop.” She was only feet away from him, and once more he crossed the distance between them, pulling her close, pulling her into his embrace and she sank into him. His arms were strong, a comforting presence and she wished that she could stay there forever, safe from the demons that stalked her below. And she relished being in them, here, safe from the dangers below. Here in his arms, no one could harm her.

Closing his eyes, he pressed his forehead against hers. A gentle sigh escaped her as she craved the contact, a gentle contact that she evidently hadn't experienced in so long. Then she started speaking again, her voice softer this time, and he had to listen carefully to ensure that he heard everything it was that she was telling him.

“That night I went missing. I was there. In his lair. The place that he called home, and Fitz… Fitz, it was so dark, so cold. So frightening. And I can’t… I can’t go back there again. I won’t. And that face… the man beneath the mask, I don’t think that I can forget it. It haunts me at night, comes to me in my dreams…”

“Jemma…” He tried to interrupt but she pulled away from him, out of his grasp once more. Her back was to him, and she took a further step away, her attention focused on the lights of night-time Paris glistening far below.

“It was him. He was the one who taught me how to sing. The one that has been in the room with me in the evenings. The one that I had been taking lessons with. My Angel of Music.” A shake of her head and a glance over her shoulder showed him that she regretted what she had done, the circumstances that had led them to coming here. Then her attention was back on the night sky, stars flecks of light against the inky black. Silence lapped between, coming in thick heavy waves until…

“ _ Jemma _ .”

The voice was long and drawn out, a haunting sound that sent a chill down her spine, caused her knees to buckle out from under her. A soft sob escaped her as Fitz put a hand on her shoulder, comforting her showed her that she wasn’t alone, despite all that she was going through. But he had found her - he had come for her.

He was here.

“He’s…” she was so scared that she couldn’t even finish what it was that she wanted to say, the one word a nervous stutter.

“I won’t,” he began to tell her, crouching down to her level, helping her to rise to her feet, cupping her cheek once she was back on her feet. “I won't l et him hurt you. Not again. That place of night-time, that darkness, I won’t let you… it won’t happen. Not again.”

Using his thumb, he wiped away a tear that was making its way down her face. “Fitz.” The word was a whisper. “Please.”

“I’ll stay with you,” he told her, promised her. “No matter what. I’ll be here, protect you from that… if that’s what you want me to do?” The statement, a question really, hung in the air between them, the sounds of Paris below them nothing more than background noise. She allowed his words to flow through her, taking in what he was promising her, the vow that he was reciting, and she knew that it would be okay, that together, her and Fitz could work something out.

She nodded, leaning into him, and he leaned into her, and neither of them needed to say it, those three words they had been dancing around for days now. A lifetime even but then… a kiss. Both of them sinking into this, this moment of love. It was a promise, a vow, that whatever came next, they would face it together.

“I will.” He looked her in the eyes, cupping both cheeks in the palm of his hands and meeting her eyes, a soft brown, so curious, so full of life, and just wanting an answer. An end to all this. And he was promising her this. “No matter what. You’ll be safe.”

A smile crossed her face, and she pulled him close to her, her arms wrapped around her and after a gentle kiss pressed to her temple, she spoke again.

“I need to go back.” The realisation came to her instantly, the reality of what she needed to do interrupting this moment that was more like a dream than anything else. “They’ll wonder where I am… but after… wait for me?”

“Tonight, supper?” he asked. He knew that it was a risky question, after the previous time that that question had been asked, how much distress it had caused her. But all that distress had obviously faded, for she nodded, supper seeming like something that she wanted to do.

“Order a carriage, the finest of horses. And afterwards, I’ll meet you at the door.” The fear, the anxiety that had been with her, that had caused her to flee to the rooftop had started to nothing more than an ebb of anxiety that she could force to the back of her mind.

“Of course,” he told her, leaning into kiss her once again, one that was a promise of safety and summertime, unlike the darkness of his lair. “We can do whatever it is that you want but…”

“But we must return, now,” she told him, lacing her fingers in his own, and dragging him back into the Opera House, and back to the stage.

***

She took to the stage once more, finishing off the performance that Aida couldn’t and wouldn’t perform, not after what he had done to her. It was what she had deserved after all. He had warned them, those fools that ran his Opera House that a great misfortune would befall them… and things hadn’t gone the way that he had demanded that they go.

Watching Jemma, take her bows, everyone praising her for her performance, for the work… All that she had achieved… And without him… she would never have gotten there. Never.

And Fitz… he was watching her, gazing at her adoringly. It was sickening. He didn’t know Jemma, not really. Not in the way that he did. He knew all that she was capable of, what the future could hold for her. 

And he wasn’t going to get in the way of that. Because there was a real risk that Fitz… this…  _ dashing _ young man… Jemma’s childhood sweetheart could ruin everything for her, everything that she had worked hard to achieve. He could fill her head with talk of sweetness and summertime, false promises… and he… He couldn’t let Fitz do this. Not after Jemma worked for so long on achieving this.

The glistening of the chandelier caught his attention, bringing his mind back to the previous plan that he had…

He could do it... 

And without a second thought, he allowed it to crash down on the audience below. The creak that it gave as it started to fall, the sound of the metal pulling away from the plaster… it was awful, sent shivers down his spine but it was nothing compared to what came next. Nothing. 

The shattering sound rang in his ears, a sound that was so loud but still, nearly drowned out by the screams of the orchestra pit, the cast on the stage, the audience in the seat who had remained after Ward’s death. He knew not of the injuries that had occurred, if anyone had died… he cared not. They should have listened after all. He did warn them that should they not listen, a great disaster would befall them. He had sent multiple notes, all of which were ignored, binned even. So they deserved this. They deserved to know pain and suffering just as he had.

But now, it was time to take leave, and without a second glance, he left the chaos and the panic to unfold below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Stjarna for the beta!! And thank you to everyone for reading and for your support!


	5. Masquerade Take Your Fill (Let The Spectacle Surround You)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Masquerade to Notes/Twisted Every Way are the songs for this chapter! Thanks for all the support, hope you enjoy this one!

It had been six months now since the chandelier had come down, ruining most of the auditorium as it did so and killing one patron. Dozens more had been left with a variety of injuries, but that had been in the past.

Things had changed now. They had moved past it. They had rebuilt, managed to replace all that had been destroyed, including their reputation. They had managed to put the Phantom behind them, the masked man that had caused them so much fear and terror.

But now, that could all be forgotten, something that had happened in times gone by.

It was a new year after all. In fact, that wasn’t the only thing that was new.

There was a new chandelier too.

***

Fitz was waiting for her in the entry hall, and when she came to him, he gasped, unable to believe that it was her standing there in front of him. She was gorgeous. No, she was radiant. She was a goddess.

Her dress was one of blues and pinks. Whites and purples. Her mask was in one hand, and using the other, she returned the hug that he gave her, holding him close to her. The two of them had gotten close in the past six months. Had allowed their relationship to grow and blossom into something much more intimate.

“Jemma,” he breathed, his words lost to a kiss. “I just… You…”

“You too.” The words were a whisper, and she took him in, took everything about him in. Wearing that suit, the gold buttons glistening like stars against his chest. She tilted her head up, allowing her lips to dance over his, the two of them enjoying a shared moment. 

“Come on,” he whispered to her, his breath hot against her skin as he murmured the words. “Let’s go in.” He took her hand, their fingers interlaced, and led her into the main hall and Jemma heard herself gasp.

Everyone was there, wearing costumes of every colour of every variety. So many of them were masked and Jemma could barely place most of the faces. The spun and twirled as they danced to the music, everyone enjoying themselves as they put the past behind them and celebrated the beginning of the new year, new beginnings. 

Daisy, along with her partner Lincoln, had called Jemma over, and the four of them lingered at the edges, chattering amongst themselves, until the music and Lincoln pulled Daisy to the middle of the dancefloor. Fitz tried to follow suit but instead, Jemma led him to a dark secluded corner, wanting to hide away from everyone and the whisperings that followed them everywhere at the moment.

“We could announce it tonight.” The words were so quiet that only she could hear what had been whispered into her ear but it sent her recoiling, and suddenly the whole dancefloor felt crowded, a swarming sea of colour that she was drowning in. “Stop the rumours and the whisperings.”

“We can’t. It’s a secret. You promised me, Fitz. You promised me.”

“But he’s gone. We’re safe. We have nothing to worry about. He’s not here, not anymore. We can do this. We can live in the open. Get our happiness. We don’t have to hide in the shadows. Not anymore, not like him. We’re free.” He leaned in, placing a kiss on her temple in the hopes to calm her, to reassure her, but if anything, it only caused her more panic.

Reaching up, she grabbed the ring that hung on a string around her neck, the ring that Fitz had proposed to her with only a week ago now and shook her head, more violently this time. A single curl fell out of place. “Fitz no. Not here. Not now. Please.” And then she turned on her heel and fled.

Pushing her way through the crowd, she had hoped to get to the drink, to get a breath of fresh air but she was lost in the crowd. In the sea of people. They kept washing over her, pushing her from one person to another and she lost track of how many people she had danced with. Her mask, a thing of silver encrusted diamonds had long since been dropped, trampled underfoot. 

Panic rose inside her with the music and she just wanted out. Away from this. She wasn’t safe. Not here. There were too many people. Too many whisperings.

Another set of hands took her own, and spun her around, letting go of her then once more she found Fitz was spinning her around, the two of them taking centre stage and the music continued to swell and swell and swell until…

Silence.

The hall went dark then the flames on the candles flickered back to life one by one and standing there, in a costume of Red Death was him.

The Phantom.

He had returned.

Standing there, at the top of the stairs, looking every bit as powerful as he was, he had the whole room in the palm of his hand. The dancing had stopped, everyone’s attention focused on the Phantom, standing there.

“Why so silent, good Messieurs? Did you think that I had left you for good? Have you missed me, good Messieurs? I have written you an opera.” He was playing with them, toying with them like a cat would with a mouse. Reaching under his robes, he pulled out an enormous bound manuscript and threw it in Hunter’s direction, the manager barely catching it. “Here I bring the finished score -  _ Don Juan Triumphant _ ! I advise you to comply. My instructions should be clear - Remember there are worse things than a shattered chandelier.”

His words were a threat, a promise of what was to happen should they not follow these instructions. No one dared interrupt him, not when he was like this. He was in charge of the Opera house, after all, they worked for him. And he made that clear. Walking down the stairs, taking each one like he had all the time in the world, he made his way to Jemma and reached up.

He was going for the ring, she was sure of it, and all her fears were confirmed when he pulled it from her neck, the chain breaking as if it were made of nothing but string. “Your chains are still mine, you will sing for me!”

A flash of blinding light, a burst of heat on her skin. 

And he was gone. 

Leaving nothing but panic and fear in his wake.

***

“May!” he called out, following the ballet teacher backstage after the Phantom had left them, the New Year’s Ball forgotten as people tried to flee. But fleeing was far from Fitz’s mind. Working out who this man of mystery was the most pressing issue. He had threatened them, had threatened Jemma and now he had to find a way to stop him. To prevent anything like this from happening again.

May spun, looking at him. Her face, usually void of any emotion, was heavy with fear. “You know something.” The words were a demand, and May knew that she had no choice but to reply to him.

“It was years ago… There was a man... no… he was more monster than man. He lived in the shadows, his face hidden. It was years ago, that I saw him, ridiculed by the world. He’s powerful, he’s a genius. But no one knows of him. I thought him dead until…” Her explanation provided no answers, except one. It was a simple statement, words she must not have known that she had said but it provided him with what he needed, would help him in his quest to stop this opera ghost.

“But he’s a man?”

A pause, the only sound piercing the silence between them was the crackle of the flame in May’s lantern. His breathing was getting heavier, and he could have sworn the beating of his heart was heard by May, but still she did not speak. “Surely you must know more.”

“I know nothing.

“His name?” Fitz asked, knowing the more information he had, the better chance he had of putting a stop to all of this.

“I have said too much,” she told him, turning on her heel and striding off, the darkness enveloping her. “And there have been too many accidents.”

***

“It makes no sense!” Deke argued, shouting at Hunter. “None of this makes sense and we shouldn't do what he wants.”

“But we have to!” was Hunter’s reply, the man shouting louder than his partner. “We have to do this. We know what would happen dare we refuse!”

Deke paused, he had no reply to this. Of course he didn’t want a repeat of last time. Of what had happened when they had ignored the last notes that had been sent from the Opera Ghost (the ones that had arrived today were piled up on the desk). The memory was so vivid and it would be something that he would never forget. “Then what do we do?”

“We follow his instructions, what is asked of us.”

Silence and then… the door banged open, and in came Aida, a storm, followed by Radcliffe. “Have you seen the size of my part?”

Hunter swallowed hard.

Jemma and Fitz were hiding in the shadows, and it didn’t take long for Aida's attention to turn to them. “Oh there’s our little flower.” Aida’s words were snide. Anger resided heavily in all of them, and Jemma stepped forward. She was tired of Aida’s treatment, of how the woman teased her, used and abused her constantly and this would end.

“I have no part in this,” she whispered, her words growing stronger. “You evil woman, I have no part in this plot.” She shook her head, turning away, back to the managers and Fitz. “You had a plan? You were saying?”

“We can use this, to stop him.”

“You can’t.” 

Silence once again fell in the manager’s office. May and Daisy had stormed in this time, and all the attention went to her. Daisy was hiding behind her mother, almost as if she didn’t want to be here. As if she didn't want to do what her mother asked of her, not this time. “We have seen him kill. We all know this. We have all witnessed this. Try and trick him, to con him, you put us all in danger.”

But Fitz shook his head. “Together, if we plan this right…

“If we make certain the doors are barred…” Hunter ventured.

“If we make certain our men are there,” Deke continued. 

“We make certain they’re armed,” Fitz finished before being joined by the other two men. “His reign will end.”

“What about me Fitz? What if I wish to not to do this? What if I  _ can’t _ do this?”

Fitz took her hands in his own, squeezing them gently. “We can stop this Jemma, we can end this fear, this reign of terror but we need you to do this. We need you to sing because without you, we can’t trap him. We can’t stop him from haunting us. Please. Please let us stop him. Together.”

Finally, she nodded. 

She would do this.

***

The next few days were spent rehearsing, trying to perfect the Phantom’s masterpiece, but despite how hard he tried, Radcliffe could not perfect the words, singing off-tune every time he had tried, and it was starting to annoy each and every one of them.

Especially Aida, who had seemed to think that Radcliffe was doing exceptionally well. “His way is better, at least he makes it sound like music.”

Heads spun to face her, everyone’s face either painted with shock or fear. No one understood how she could speak so boldly, so unapologetically about this, especially after what had happened the summer gone by. “Would you dare speak that way in the presence of the composer?” May’s voice was harsh, the only one brave enough to call her out. 

Aida smirked, clearly something had amused her. “The composer is not here.” 

After her words, the room temperature must have dropped several degrees, sending a chill down everyone’s spine. There seemed to be another presence in the room, one that no one could, or wanted, to place. Then suddenly, the silence was broken, and music was filling the air.

The piano was playing itself, and everyone was transfixed, wanting to know what had caused such a sensation, and in the moments that passed, Jemma grabbed her travelling cloak, and hiding beneath the hood fled the Opera House, a destination in mind.


	6. No More Gazing Across The Wasted Years (Help Me Say Goodbye)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter are Wishing You Where Somehow Here Again and Wandering Child

Her father had died so many years ago now, when she had been nothing more than a child and still, even to this day, the pain of losing him had never faded.

It was a constant agony that tugged at her heart strings, that lingered in her very soul but she knew that she had to say goodbye, to let go if she wanted this pain that she was going through to stop. If she wanted to be able to move on in her life, take that next step and no longer remain in the past. She couldn’t keep living there, she needed to take that step into the present.

But to do that, she had to say goodbye.

And saying goodbye didn’t mean forgetting him, not at all. All that it meant was there would be less sadness and less pain in her life, no more longing or wishing that he was somehow here again. He was gone, and no wishing could bring him back. 

She had to say goodbye.

The graveyard was cold and harsh, guarded by sculpted angels and it was so unlike her memories of her father, the man that had raised her. He was warm, he was gentle… he had been the best thing in her life, he had wanted so much for her - had told her she would get so much in her life. That one day she would be visited by her Angel of Music and with that would come success and fame, and everything that she wanted. But instead, she got this.

A life full of fear, where her Angel of Music - the one who was supposed to guard and guide her - was instead someone who hunted and hurt - and this wasn’t the life that she wanted. She could no longer live like this, waiting in fear for the next attack, the next time that he threatened someone that she loved.

She had to say goodbye.

Walking through the graveyard, her cloak rippling in the darkness like the shadows surrounding her, she found the grave where her father was buried and knelt down in front of it, her hand resting on the cold stone. It nipped at her hand, and she had to close her eyes to prevent the tears from falling.

“I miss you,” she whispered despite knowing the graveyard was silent, the fear of upsetting restless spirits being too much. “And I love you, I will always love you but I have to move on. I have to say goodbye.”

Staying there for several more moments, she allowed herself to silently reflect everything that happened, before standing once again. “Goodbye father.”

Turning, she made her way to leave the graveyard but then a voice called her back, strange and mysterious. Spinning, she saw atop a crypt a mysterious figure. He was calling to her, beckoning her closer. What he wanted, she wasn’t sure but he was there for her. 

Taking a few steps forward, she fell into a trance, into his power and crossed the distance between them. Though she wasn’t sure what it was that he offered her, she knew that it was something that she wanted. She had to follow him, to go to him, to allow him to take her wherever she needed to go. And nothing would prevent her from this. Nothing and no one would stop her.

Seconds seemed to stretch into minutes as she stepped forward, the ground damp with melting snow. It soaked through her shoes, freezing her feet. But still she continued forward, lost in her own world.

“Jemma! Stop!” Another voice pierced through the darkness, but this one was more distant, a whisper at the back of her mind, a crack in the glass around her. But it was one that she ignored for the figure before her offered safety, shelter, a future. He would guard her and guide her. “Jemma, whatever you may believe, this man - this thing - is not your father!”

But still she kept walking forward, truly entranced by this man, the other one forgotten until...

“Jemma!” The second voice called again and again, and she felt a hand on her shoulder spinning to her to face him. “Jemma, it’s not him. It’s not your father.”

Blinking a few times, she took in the man that was standing in front of her. The soft face, lined heavily with worry. The blue eyes, soft and deep and full of love. He looked so worried, so concerned and though it took a few moments, she was finally able to place to whom the face belonged to.

“Fitz.” He was there, holding her safe away from this Angel of Death. It had been him that had been calling to her, trying to keep her safe. “How did you know I was here?”

“Lincoln told me. He saw which way ran and from there, I worked out where you had gone but now… We need to get back,” he told her, placing a kiss on the top of her head as she sunk into his embrace. “We need to get back there.” Holding her close, he started to lead her away from here, back to safely but something, or someone, stopped them.

“You think this is over!” the voice bellowed from above them, the masked figure tormenting them from atop the crypt, causing Jemma to once again face him. But this time, she was no longer under his spell, and this time, she saw who- and what- he truly was. “Come on, come on, Monsieur! Don't stop, don't stop!” He was taunting Fitz, beckoning Fitz to come closer.

But it was in that moment, Jemma realised who it was.

For it was _ him _ standing there. The Phantom. She gave a soft cry upon seeing him, her hand rising to his face once she realised the true horror of what she had gone through.

He had tried to take her here and now. Had tried to claim her as his own when she was vulnerable. But Fitz had saved her. He had saved her from him again. 

And now they had to stop this. Had to stop this masked figure of death. 

He couldn’t go on haunting and tormenting like this, and she could feel Fitz bristle against her, his body tense. He wanted to lash out, to release the anger that had been building up in him. But to do it here… it was too dangerous. They had no plan, no backup, and attacking now could result in both of their deaths… or worse.

“You can't win her love by making her your prisoner!” Fitz seemed to be falling for his tricks, drawn into his power and now it was her time to save her, her time to pull him back from this. 

“Fitz, please,” she whispered, dropping her voice. “Let us go. Defeating him here and now… it’s not possible. Let us leave.”

He remained silent, thinking but then he nodded, and slowly they turned, Fitz wrapping his arm around her as they made their exit from the graveyard.

“So be it! Now let it be war upon you both!” 

Freezing in place they turned once more to face him and Fitz made a move to attack but was stopped by a wall of flame, white hot against their faces. It was a wall of fire, nothing more than that, and in that instant, Fitz changed his mind, and instead, the two of them fled, the heat of the flames licking at their heels, and they knew that even away from the Opera House, they were no longer safe.


	7. The Bridge is Crossed So Stand and Watch it Burn (We've Passed the Point of No Return)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to stjarna for the beta

The Opera House was getting ready for perhaps the most important performance in its history,  _ Don Juan Triumphant.  _ Jemma was getting ready backstage, whilst Fitz was taking charge in front of house. There was a group of policemen following him, along with Deke, Hunter and Lincoln.

The managers were talking between them, wondering if this idea was going to work, if Fitz’s plan would be successful. They had their doubts but Fitz refused to listen to them because this had to work as if it didn’t… no he didn’t want to consider that. Didn’t want to think if he had failed Jemma.

Lincoln was talking to him, telling him about the preparations that he had made. “Is that us?” he asked, looking around the auditorium.

Fitz followed his gaze and nodded. “I think it is. There’s nothing else that we can do.” 

“Shall I give the order?” Lincoln asked, his hand reaching for his pistol that was holstered on his belt, his fingers twitching slightly. He seemed as anxious as Fitz was, wanting this horror to end. Not that that surprised Fitz, everyone wanted this over, everyone wanted things to go back to how they should be. Back to some form of normality.

Fitz nodded again, and turned to the crowd of the policemen, already starting to spread out and take their places. “This ends here tonight, these mind games. You, in the pit - do you have a clear view of this box?” As he pointed out Box Five, a  [ policeman with floppy blonde ](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5-Umf9FQU6/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link) hair popped out of the pit, pistol pointed and ready to shoot.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good, and remember, when the time comes, shoot. Only if you have to - but shoot. To kill.” Fitz had made sure that no one would hesitate, as tonight would be the night when the Phantom’s reign of terror would end. 

But the policeman seemed confused. “But how will I know, sir?”

Hiding a sign of annoyance, Fitz answered his question. “You’ll know,” and then he turned his attention to the others, everyone now in position and waiting for the orders that Fitz had in mind. “Are the doors secure?” he called out.

“Secure!”

“Secure!”

“Secure!”

The voices called out the responses, followed by the sounds of the door locking. There would be no escape. No one was entering or leaving the Opera House. His reign was ending tonight.

Fitz couldn’t help the smug smile on his face, a feeling of joy knowing he had won this battle despite how many rounds he had lost. However, a gust of wind ran through the Opera House, sending shivers down his spine and causing his hair to stand on edge.

Then that voice, that blasted voice, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, nothing more than a taunting whisper. 

“ _ I’m here - The Phantom of the Opera. _ ”

“ _ I’m here - The Phantom of the Opera. _ ”

“ _ I’m here,” _

_ “I’m here.” _

_ “I’m here!” _

Suddenly a gunshot rang out, the smell of gunpowder filling his nose. The man in the pit had made a shot, at seemingly nothing. “Idiot!” He couldn’t help shouting. This wasn’t how things were meant to go. “You’ll kill someone. I said only when the time comes!”

“But Monsieur Fitz…”

“No buts - only when the time comes!”

A laugh rang through the auditorium, a cold one laugh full of little joy. He was gloating, enjoying his power over them, especially now, when they thought they had had the upper hand.

“For once, Monsieur Fitz is right, seal my fate tonight - I hate to have to cut the fun short. But the joke’s wearing thin… let the audience in… Let my opera begin!”

***

Jemma took to the stage, her heart pounding in her chest. This was it. This was her big moment, and if the Phantom was going to appear at any time, it was going to be now. He was obsessed with her, he had written this show for her, had made this part for her

And the moment that she took to the stage, she allowed herself to be lost in the moment, lost in the music. She was glad that she did, for if she dwelled on what was really happening, on what she was really doing, then she would stumble and forget herself.

Losing herself even more in the moment, she moved closer to Radcliffe, following the steps she had spent so long learning. It was a passionate dance, full of sexual tension and when she reached over to caress his face, hidden by a thick woollen cloak, something was wrong.

Her footsteps stumbled, her hand frozen against his cheek, against the mask that was outlined there. Knowing she had to leave, to let Fitz know that it wasn’t Radcliffe on stage with her, she turned and tried to head towards the wings but as soon as she began to do that, his grip around her wrist tightened and she had no choice but to finish the song and it wasn’t until the end that she was able to do what she had to do.

She knocked back the hood and revealed him to everyone. Letting Fitz know that he was here and that it was time to put their plan into action now, albeit one that would now have to be altered. 

It took her breath away, caused her heart to beat faster in her chest, seeing him standing there, in front of her and Jemma knew that she had to act, had to continue on and not freeze on the spot. Not if she wanted the ones that she loved to survive. And reaching forward, she grabbed the mask, revealing the horrors that lay underneath it. His one true weakness: having others know what he truly looked like.

His cry of horror was loud and anguished but it caused enough chaos but it wasn’t the right kind of chaos. Not really.

People were rushing all over the stage, knocking into one another, props, the actual set and Jemma found herself once again lost in a crowd of people. Drowning in a sea of bodies. And it was at this moment that things got worse.

A scream escaped from one of the ballet dancers as part of the staging came down, revealing what lay behind it - Radcliffe was lying dead on one of the prop beds, a noose around his neck and that’s when what had really happened sunk into Jemma.

He had killed Radcliffe and had taken his place. This was his plan all along. He was never going to be captured, caught or killed. He had outsmarted them all. Had been playing the long game to get Jemma.

And now she was at his mercy. 

***

His arm wrapped around Jemma’s wrist and started to pull her off stage. Fitz could see that she was fighting but his grip was too strong. Lincoln raised his gun, but it was too risky to shoot and he forced Lincoln’s hand up. “No, don’t shoot!”

A shot rang out, but it hit the ceiling instead, sending down a rainfall of plaster dusting their shoulders. 

The floppy-haired blonde from the pit had jumped out of the pit and up onto the stage and was rushing to where Radcliffe was, lying dead at the back of the stage, helping to carry the dead body away.

And the rest of the stage was pandemonium. People were running back and forth everywhere, trying to help or trying to escape. No one was really sure what was going on. Fitz himself was trying to help, telling someone to go one way and someone else to grab water but his main goal was Jemma but she was gone.

He let out a cry of frustration, but he had no idea where to even begin looking. Spinning left and right, he tried to work out his next move but then May came up to him, Daisy trailing a few steps behind her.

“Monsieur Fitz, come with me, I know where they are.” Her voice was desperate and she even reached out and grabbed him, stopping him from chasing after them. 

“How can I trust you?” May had been lying to him for months, had known much more than she had ever let on and for that reason, he wasn’t sure that he could trust her. At least not completely. 

“You must. But remember - keep your hand at the level of your eye.”

Her instructions confused him. “But why?”

“The Punjab lasso. First Ward, then Radcliffe.”

Daisy had caught up now, was now in step with them, “Like this Monsieur.” She held up at hand, demonstrating what needed to be done. “Look I’ll go with you!” She made to move but May held her back, shaking her head.

“No Daisy..” May’s words to her daughter were stern as if there was no other thing to be done. No. You stay here. Come with me Monsieur, and do as I say. Or we shall be too late!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe I did add Danny Whitehead. what of it?


End file.
